


The Devil's Advocate

by Kierkegarden



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Community: grindeldore, Death Wish, Drabble, Grindeldore, Implied/Referenced Sex, In which the same phrase describes death and prison and anal., M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9483689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierkegarden/pseuds/Kierkegarden
Summary: There was no martyr for our free world - only us. Only liberation. You looked down your long nose at me and shook your pretty auburn hair. "Death is final, Gellert," you said, as if I didn’t know, "we’ll find another way."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [Calotta](http://elsa-the-snowbitch.tumblr.com) in return for the Faust!AU that she wrote which served as inspiration.

“What I possess, seems far away to me, and what is gone becomes reality.” 

―  **Johann Wolfgang von Goethe** ,  **Faust: First Part**

 

* * *

  
  


_ Once you get inside, you will not get out. _ That is the way it goes with you. Perhaps, now, that’s why you’ve become so distant, so detached; so you won't get inside anyone else and make them  _ who they are _ . An honor, my love, that I could help you learn, give you confidence, ignite you with possibility.

 

Who was I before I came to you? History books will say I was calculating, a beast on a marble floor but they’ll leave you out. You, the Beast Tamer Dumbledore. You, the flame that burned out. You, the innovator. What marvelous ideas you had. You’ve won this war and you’ll win the next one. You’ll die a hero and I’ll die here. We’re old men, Albus, and hell welcomes us. Don’t pretend you weren’t offered an invitation. 

 

We were discussing Nurmengard, one day, in a field of blond wheat grass. You said you liked the way my hair looked golden in the summer sun.  _ Like a veela,  _ you said. Debauched and shameless or in virgin wonderment. 

 

_ Let them die,  _ I said, _it's a crueler fate_ __to_ keep them alive inside a cell. _

 

We talked about death a lot: as an opponent, as a friend. You insisted there was another way. Death was always your ally, never mine. I beg of you, Death and Albus, lovers who moved past me. You found each other and left me here to rot. I'm more than aware that I won this round, that you silently admitted defeat, you slept with the enemy. Come back for me now, bring me what I’ve been waiting for.  

 

_ Once you get inside, you should not get out,  _ you said. A sensible suggestion for Nurmengard. You were so good at being impenetrable but I was so good at being right. I was right that I needed you by my side. I was right that killing was less cruel. I was even right that death wouldn’t dare sneak up on me: a tragic irony. Your disease is spreading to me. I’m afraid I’m going mad. We’re old men, Albus, and hell is reaching up at me with fiery fingers. 

 

In the river down the hill, in patches of clover freckled with wildflower, we took refuge from civilization. Bathing was ritual and nakedly in the mossy water, we emerged laughing, lips clumsily bumping, teeth chattering with cold. You told me that this was  _ for good,  _ diplomacy lessons in clear pompous English - swearing lessons in German - and you, ever hungry, wanted to learn Magyar too. I tried not to laugh as you botched my native tongue. I remember a robin singing in the underbrush, calling us to heaven. I may embellish my memories.

 

Remember when you taught me to lie back and take it? I was so used to giving and using and ready to hold your hand, Virgin Boy, and steer you into hell. You told me to close my eyes.  _ My God _ , you whispered,  _ you’re beautiful.  _ Your fingers across my thighs, my nipples and the curve of my spine. I shivered. Your hands in mine, your mouth on mine, your breath in mine and in my mind, I felt you coming before you cried out.  _ Once you get inside, you will not get out. _

 

Oh, Albus. How have you convinced yourself that you are better while you do the exact same thing? There was no martyr for our free world - only us. Only liberation. You looked down your long nose at me and shook your pretty auburn hair.  _ Death is final, Gellert,  _ you said, as if I didn’t know,  _ we’ll find another way.  _

 

Have you given up, old friend? Have you embraced Death as your new lover and cloaked yourself in him? Have you decided that you can no longer turn a blind eye to his finality? You're more me than you are you. Sometimes, I bury my nose in your grimacing portrait but all I can smell is cold damp paper.

 

You cannot tame a beast like Death. Only in children’s stories.

 

Idiosyncrasy is a charming tool as a circus trick to entice young boys. As for me, put away your mask, Albus. Kill me first - if you’re truly the killing type.  _ Prove your worth.  _ We’re only here a short while longer, we are getting so old, so quickly, Albus. I hear the devil’s laughter and it sounds like broken Magyar floating down the river.


End file.
